


Reminiscence

by Allthegenericnamesweretaken (Dingsbums)



Series: Gravity Falls shorts [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Piano Ford, Stanford plays the piano, Stanley Pines POV, i love this idea with a passion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dingsbums/pseuds/Allthegenericnamesweretaken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first time in fourty years, Stanley Pines wakes to the sound of music.</p><p>Inspired by this post: http://skidar.tumblr.com/post/129249032937/poinsixer-i-just-love-the-headcanon-that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminiscence

**Author's Note:**

> Accompanying music can be found here: http://skidar.tumblr.com/post/129249032937/poinsixer-i-just-love-the-headcanon-that

Golden morning light filtered through the grimy windows of the Shack, illuminating the room in a surreal glow as the quilt stirred. A thin, worn blanket fell away to reveal a tired, hunched figure who raised his head wearily. For the first time in fourty years, Stanley Pines raised his head to the sound of music. Shifting, eddying tones and melodies lilted, a slow, gradual pace almost quivering with the dust thrown adrift as he rose, all quiet in the silence of morn. An ear raised to the tune, he slipped on his footwear, footsteps quieter; the world seeming surreal as if slowed and encaptured. He shuffled to the doorway, where he came to a standstill. Ford sat, his shoulders loosened and his head gently bobbing to the music. Fingers; one too many for each hand rippled over the keys, each note sounding steady and certain. They pressed almost intimately, gentle and caressing in his movements as he rocked ever so slightly in his seat. He looked at peace as he played the troubling lullaby - at rest. The tune was certainly dark; it struck chords long buried; of regret and reminiscence. And a strange walzing appreciation; a love for all that had and could be. It was as if the world was gradually being suspended in amber, holding everything still as it progressed ever so quietly. Nothing moved; not even time. Golden sunlight glowed on the paino's rim and outlined Ford's greying hair. And once again, Stan's stomach panged. Had it really been so long? So enraptured was he by the song that he had neglected to notice the soft patter of footfalls - Stan glanced to the stairwell to find the twins, lead by Mabel, gazing curiously at him. Quietly, they came to stand by him as his arm found its steadying way round their shoulders. Stan sniffed, his eyes aching because for once, Ford looked happy. He looked like someone who had given up what they had sought and instead turned to sit in his field of rotting corn and marvel at sunset. The tune became hopeful; even turbulent in a strange, lulling kind of way, as time slowed as if to listen. Dust rose and fell at Ford's shoulders as he played - a tribute to the years the old piano had paid its silence, quietened beneath a blanket and edged aside. He felt his chest clench as the song slowed, the final chords striking the quiet before sinking into silence. Ford sat for a moment, his posture stilled and his head bowed. His fingers remained rested upon the keys, each poised gently, before he drew back, his tired features hanging low as he turned.

"S-Stan? Kids! I-" he sputtered, eyes widening and fingers retracting impulsively.

"Whoo! Grunkle Ford, that was amazing!" It was Mabel that fractured the silence, an enthusiastic applause soon accompanied more meekly by Dipper, the latter grinning admiringly, if tiredly, from beneath a mop of bed hair and darkened eyes.

"N-nice song, Poindexter." Stan spoke louder than he'd intended, his voice cracking. The silence between the two spoke volumes, Stan glancing away, lips bitten and eyes misty beneath his glasses, and Ford left standing quietly, rapping his fingertips against each other in silence. The last time he had played, they had been at home. Safe, sound and together at Glass Shard. Had it really been so many years?...

_"Hey - hey Poindexter, I was wondering-" Stan paused, his expression fleetingly darkening to a frown. The soft sound of music quivered from behind the solid oak, as Stanley's hand found the handle. Ford was perched at his stool, once again swaying to the rhythm of his fingers pressing gracefully on the keys. The song was both troubling and comforting at once, a moment captured before a storm in the pure sunlight with preknowledge of what wreckage was to come. He walked to Ford's side, noting that he refused to glance from the keys. In most liklihood he hadn't even noticed him - Ford had the enviable ability to focus; to completely shut his brilliant mind from all else but the task at hand. His brows were furrowed, his lips dipped ever so slightly into a frown and his eyelids raised as if pained. With a sigh, Stanley came to sit beside him, clammy hand settling on his shoulder as the song played to its end, and the final chords quietened._

_"Rough day, huh?" Stanford only smiled back in appreciation, before his eyes widened ever so slightly as if in realisation. It left Stan confused for a moment, his mouth opened to object as Ford grasped Stanley's hand, picking out his index finger and pressing it lightly to one of the keys._

_"You haven't played."_

_"Ford-"_

_"Stanley Pines, you are playing with me, like it or not. And no, no your fingers are perfectly fine and_ certainly _not 'too fat'..." Stan pouted as Ford positioned his fingers appropriately, muttering and chiding as he plucked away excuses like scales from a fish._

_"So where do I start, Sixer?"_

_"Here - look, see what I'm doing? If you could just raise your wrist like - like this, see?..." They ran through the techniques, Ford's steady guiding hands leading Stan's more cumbersome ones until they began to run a tune, the larger of the two admiring his brother's fingers as they danced intricately over the keys and he pressed rythmically with his own. At first he'd been forceful; a little_ too _forceful, he might admit._

 _"Nonononono... don't_ hammer _them, they're gentle, see? No need to go hard on them..." Now he pressed with more caution, and as the chords wove and progressed, Stan began to find himself enjoying it. Their shoulders brushed comfortingly in the cold dark of the study, the time washing away with the music that found its way unabashed past the door and into the rest of the house. They played in perfect unison, Ford weaving atop his steady metronome and Stan glanced to his twin lovingly as he noticed his features had brightened. Stan swore to himself that Ford Pines would never be alone - he needed him. He needed someone to keep him from slipping, to keep that brightness on his face. And so it didn't matter if Ford outshone him in every way and manner - Stanley frankly didn't care. Ford Pines was_ going _places after all, and Stan would be there all the way. No matter what happened._

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: http://skidar.tumblr.com/post/129249032937/poinsixer-i-just-love-the-headcanon-that


End file.
